It’s hard to explain what they sound like without using that tactile language: like the black stuff that comes out of a roadkill kangaroo, like the thick, viscous fake blood – the stuff that smells of liquid plastic – that squirts out of Ozploitation horror films, like pen ink spilt over your foot from a poorly executed stick ‘n’ poke, like that one patch of the couch no one will sit on after that one unfortunate happening at that one terrible party, the one that Gideon brought that THC-moonshine to, the one where the toilet was blocked up five metres down and Tom woke up six kilometres away naked in a park the next day. Or maybe take a bit of grunge fuzz and grind, a bit of psychobilly dexamphetamines, add the manic hoots and screeches of frontman Vin Buchanan-Simpson panting over the muscles of a gym junkie in ‘Flex’ (“Feel them crawling under my skin/Is it bigger?/Is it bigger?”) or word salad of ‘Ohio (Is It Dead Yet?)’, sprinkle a pinch of metal in mad shredding guitar solos and a dash of psych in extended psych-outs like ‘Neon Sound’, and you have an approximation of Hideous Sun Demon. Continue reading BAND PROFILE: Hideous Sun Demon, 08.07.15